I started at noon. Wedding was at 5:30. I picked out cute clothes. Even a skirt, something I don't normally wear. And also my puffiest bra. I wanted to look beautiful and sexy. I spent an hour googling makeup tutorials to figure out how to do foundation, contouring, and blush. I got into my mom's jewelry box. She gave it to me before she died. I got out a lovely necklace set and a bracelet my mom made years ago.
Next I spent another hour curling my hair. Ohhh, that's so hard. I sprayed every curl to make sure it would last all night. Almost burned myself twice. Is this where I mention that I haven't done this in over 8 years.
Lipstick. Dress. High heels. Matching purse. Phone charged. I prepare. I breathe. I don't want to cry again today. I don't want to feel alone again. And I go.
I get there and the ceremony starts. He lines up as a groomsman. He glances my way, but I don't think he sees me. But I wait. I will wait it out until the end to see my goal.
Waiting on the reception he's not there. During the reception he walks right by me and doesn't see me.
I still wait.
I still hope.
After a groomsman hugs his wife next to me, he comes over. Gives me a casual, friendly, but distant hug. It hurts. I feel the void.
I still wait.
He comes. He goes.
I still wait.
Fast dance. Slow dance. I see him on the dance floor, but he doesn't come to me.
It must be hopeless. I'm still not as pretty as the other girls. More flat chested. Strange. I'm not really his type. The others go for a slow dance. I debate about leaving. About walking away. Maybe even telling him I can't take it anymore.
A hand takes mine. I turn. He gives a slight smile and pulls me towards the dance floor. It's been so long I put my hands in the wrong spot. He moved my hands to his shoulders and he take my hips.
In close. Soft side to side rhythm to the music. He gives me a goofy grin. That's how he deals with serious stuff. But he's dancing with me. A slow dance.
I keep my eyes one his. I will remember this for the rest of my life. He looks at my eyes, and his expression changes. Softens. That romantic look he gave me when we first started dating returns.
He leans in. He kisses me. Not peck. Not on the forehead. He takes my lips to his. The deepest, tendersest kiss. He does not kiss my in public. He's not romantic in public. But here he is. On the dance floor. Close to me. Giving me the sweetest kiss.
It was my first kiss on the dance floor.
No matter what. This will be a magical memory. Even as I write this I try not to cry. I wish I could take that feeling and bottle it. Keep it forever.
I, for a short moment, felt truly loved.